


Daybreak

by rudbeckia



Series: Geraskier fics [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:01:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23616415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudbeckia/pseuds/rudbeckia
Summary: Rejected by Yennefer, Geralt lashes out at Jaskier and drives him away. Jaskier leaves, upset by Geralt’s rejection of him, but he reasons himself out of it once he realises why Geralt spoke such hurtful words. He imagines Geralt turning up again and that they will somehow carry on as before.But when Geralt does show up, Jaskier is not the cool, calm, rational creature he imagined he would be, and Geralt is shocked by the effect his actions have had on Jaskier.Will Jaskier forgive him?(spoiler: yes, yes he will.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geraskier fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699972
Comments: 4
Kudos: 196





	Daybreak

_If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!_

Jaskier walked away with his head down and his spirits about as low as they could get. He knew Geralt found his natural exuberance irritating at times, but he’d made up for it, right? Again and again, by getting the good people of whichever court, village or town he happened to be ridding monsters from to sing in praise of his mighty deeds, right?

Of course he had. Jaskier raised his head and forced a smile. He would get the details of Geralt’s undoubtedly brave triumph against the dragon from some of the others. The dwarves looked like they’d sell the whole story plus a few useful embellishments for a few flagons of cheap ale and a promise to sing a song about their valiant bravery too.

And of course Geralt appreciated the moments when Jaskier took him out of his own head, made him forget the horrors he faced, with soft words, gentle hands and the occasional thoroughly hard fuck. He did, right? Geralt had never complained about that aspect of their relationship at all, and if Geralt wasn’t happy he usually made sure Jaskier knew about it with the particular intonation of, _hmmm, fuck,_ he employed to convey his more subtle emotions. That was their code, right?

It was the realisation that maybe Geralt _didn’t_ appreciate his more personal attentions that brought the lump into Jaskier’s throat and the hot flush up his neck to his cheeks, and the harsh prickle to his eyes. He blinked rapidly, sniffled and wiped his face on his satin sleeves. Maybe Geralt really did find him annoying _all the time_ and maybe all those times he’d shared Jaskier’s bed, relaxed to the point of falling sleep, were because Jaskier smelled better and fidgeted less than Roach.

Well. He had better perk up before those dwarves caught him crying over spilt feelings. There was certainly no point in crying over Geralt. Maybe the man—not a man, he’d insisted—the mutant really did feel nothing. But he knew that could not be true. Geralt felt pain and anger, he’d seen enough evidence of that. Geralt felt joy in those snatched, small moments where he’d allowed Jaskier to attend to him, and peace after when he slept without bad dreams. And he knew Geralt did feel love. Or at least duty and obligation, which were close enough in hard times.

And Geralt certainly felt passion. Okay it wasn’t for him, but Jaskier recognised that the lovely, confident and alluringly dangerous Yennefer stirred a passion in Geralt that nobody else seemed to. Jaskier bit his lip and choked back a laugh. Maybe that one time he’d composed and sung a ballad about Yennefer’s bewitching charms, he hadn’t been exaggerating after all.

 _Ah, Yennefer, Yennefer, Yennie-yen-yen,_ Jaskier sighed to himself, looking around furtively to make sure the sorceress was not listening and therefore about to kill him painfully. _Why’d you do it? Why’d you..._

Oh.

Jaskier’s feet dragged to a stop on the dusty trudge back to last night’s camp. He wiped his face with both sleeves, looked up to the sky and laughed. Of course Geralt was angry and pushing people away. Of course Geralt was hurt. He’d just been dumped.

By the time Jaskier reached the little group of humans and dwarves busily packing up camp, he was already trying out lines to see how they’d fit the melody in his head. Yarpen grunted at him when he suggested they join him at the inn but it sounded like a yes kind of grunt so Jaskier traipsed down the path behind the dwarves with a smile on his lips and the beginning of a song in his head.

Three days later, having decided that the best place to wait for Geralt was wherever Roach was stabled (as luck would have it, it was the same inn they had set out from), Jaskier paused mid-song when the inn doors almost blasted off their hinges and Geralt marched in, pointed a finger right in his chest, and said, “You. Come with me.”

“Geralt!” Jaskier replied brightly. “Good of you to come by. Why not stay for a song? I think you’ll like this one.” He took a deep breath and plucked a chord on the strings his lute. “Toss a—”  
“A word,” Geralt growled. “In private. Now.”  
“I see. Very well.” Jaskier turned to the small audience. “I do apologise, but when the White Wolf himself demands my attention, I—”

The rest of what Jaskier was going to say was abruptly lost in an undignified yelp when Geralt grabbed him by the shoulder pads and hauled him out of the inn.  
“Roach is in the stables!” Jaskier said as soon as Geralt released him.  
“I know. Stop talking.” Geralt turned away, sighed deeply, then turned back. “I have something I need to say to you.”  
“Oh?” Jaskier replied, his sarcastic tone hiding the nervous flutter low in his gut. “Last thing you said to me was that you wished I would be—”  
“I know what I said,” Geralt snapped, then more softly, “fuck.”  
“So you don’t—”  
“I do not want you _taken off my hands,_ Jaskier.”  
“Oh! I see.” Jaskier bit his lips and straightened out his jacket by pulling the hem smartly with both hands. He regarded Geralt warily. “So you came to say... what exactly, Geralt?” Unexpected anger flared in his chest. “What _exactly_ have you got to say to me, Geralt of Rivia, after _that?_ Oh, hmm, fuck, oops I didn’t mean it?”

This wasn’t how Jaskier had pictured their reunion at all. He’ll come for Roach and act like nothing happened and you’ll ask him to stay he won’t and it’ll be normal. Or he’ll come for Roach and roll his eyes at your songs and then ride off on some monster-killing spree for coin, and you’ll follow. Or he’ll come for Roach and you’ll sulk for a while and he’ll give you _that look_ and remind you that he’s _different_ and you’ll say _bullshit, Geralt,_ and you’ll argue then kiss and make up in bed afterwards.

Jaskier stood silent for a few seconds, glaring at Geralt, waiting for a reply that wasn’t coming. “I can take rejection,” he said eventually. “Heaven knows I’d be a fucking useless bard if my ego couldn’t handle a bit of heckling. Even from you, when you roll your eyes and say _hmm_ and tell me to shut up, I can take it because I _know_ you don’t mean it. But that was... That was _cruel_ , Geralt.” Jaskier blinked back tears but failed to hide the wobble in his voice. “I have never before thought of you as cruel.”

Geralt looked at Jaskier with wide open eyes and his jaw slack. “Fuck,” he said, without force, lunging forwards to gather Jaskier in a tight embrace, silent for a full minute. Then, “I’m sorry, Jaskier,” Geralt said in a small voice, lips beside Jaskier’s ear. “You didn’t deserve it, and I am sorry.”

Something about the way Geralt held him, with no regard for who might be watching, with no sign of letting go, released then dammed the flood of Jaskier’s emotions. He sobbed freely then took a few deep breaths, freed his own grip around Geralt’s shoulders and wiped his face with his hands. Geralt’s arms loosened enough to let Jaskier move but Geralt did not completely relinquish his hold around Jaskier’s back.

Jaskier peered into Geralt’s face, recognising concern in the lines of his brow and the set of his jaw. “Did you really come back to apologise?”  
“Yes,” Geralt said. “I was too busy numbing my own hurt to consider yours. It took me a day and a half just to remember what I’d said to you in blind despair. Then a day and a half to think of how to persuade you to see me again.”  
“And you chose storm in and literally drag me, a talented musician, away from my audience, mid-performance.” Jaskier smiled. “Honestly, Geralt. You are a liability.”  
“Hmm.”  
Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck again. “Did you consider just talking to me?”  
“We’re talking, aren’t we?”  
“Well, it’s a good thing I have a forgiving nature,” Jaskier murmured, “and a weakness for the strong, silent type.”

Jaskier felt Geralt’s silent laughter heaving deep within his chest. Geralt planted a kiss on Jaskier’s temple. “Let’s get out of here. Before more people see us.”

Jaskier kissed Geralt’s cheek. “Worried that the good people will think the great Geralt of Rivia has gone soft?”  
“Hmm,” Geralt said. “Not exactly. You have a room?”  
Whatever Jaskier’s next words were going to be fled from his head when Geralt pulled their hips closer and made the source of his desire for privacy more obvious. “Oh!” he said. And, “Yes.” And, “A room. I have one of those. Um. This way.”

Jaskier led Geralt around the back of the inn where a stone staircase climbed to the rooms above the bar. He pushed a door open and almost stumbled as Geralt hustled him inside. Once the door closed, Geralt held Jaskier’s face in his palms and leaned in to kiss his forehead, his cheeks, then his lips. Jaskier responded by pulling at the leather straps that held Geralt’s weapons on his back. Geralt said _hmmm_ into the kiss and stepped back to remove his swords and his armour. Jaskier lounged on the bed and watched.

“Aren’t you going to help?” Geralt said with a little tilt of his head.  
“No,” Jaskier replied, “This is your apology. Why should I do any of the work?”  
Geralt grinned at that. “I see,” he said.

Geralt slowed down. He picked at buckles with mock-clumsy fingers then fiddled with buttons and ties, pulling each garment off and folding it carefully onto the chair. Jaskier watched, eyes eating up every square inch of exposed skin. Once nude, Geralt reached out to help Jaskier to stand. Smiling, Jaskier stroked both hands over Geralt’s shoulders and down his arms, then back up again and across his pectorals, pausing to squeeze the firm muscles that bulged under Geralt’s skin.

“I could write a rousing chorus just about these,” Jaskier said, kneading Geralt’s pectorals again. “They’re glorious.”  
“Please don’t.”  
“Or a verse or two about these,” Jaskier slipped his hands down Geralt’s back to his backside, giving a double, firm squeeze.  
“No.”  
“Or an entire ballad about this,” Jaskier’s hands moved up to Geralt’s waist, around to his belly then down, one hand cradling his balls and the other clasping his cock.  
“Absolutely not.”  
Jaskier laughed. “But I already have. In my head, anyway.”  
Geralt smiled back. “Am I forgiven?”  
“Almost,” Jaskier replied, giving Geralt’s cock a few gentle strokes and playing with his balls. “How do you feel about, oh, not begging, you’re really not the type. Maybe, saying please?”  
“Please,” Geralt said. “Or did you want me to get on my knees for you?”

Geralt seemed to realise how _get on my knees for you_ might be interpreted at the same time as Jaskier’s face reddened and he coughed. Jaskier, usually so confident in the bedroom (and, if Geralt was honest, very satisfying since he took great care to make sure his partner had a good time) seemed hesitant.  
“You’d like that,” Geralt observed. “Hmm.”

Kissing Jaskier once, softly, Geralt sank to his knees and looked up to see soft brown eyes look down at him with surprise. He found the buttons of Jaskier’s breeches and unfastened them all one by one, not taking his eyes off Jaskier’s face. Jaskier was already hard at just the thought of what Geralt was doing to him. Geralt freed Jaskier’s cock from his clothing, leaned forward and enveloped it in his mouth. Jaskier groaned. Geralt held his hips still with firm hands and used his lips and tongue with more enthusiasm than skill. Jaskier tapped Geralt on the shoulder, then slapped his bulging deltoid and yelled, “Hedgehog!”

Geralt froze and released Jaskier, who sat down heavily on the bed. “Whew!” Jaskier said. “You almost had this apology over and done with in under two minutes.”  
“Fuck,” Geralt said. “What do you want, then?”  
“I can’t help my generous nature,” Jaskier said, smiling. “I want you to enjoy this apology sex too. Give me a few minutes. Let me undress too.”

Jaskier stood up and removed his clothes, then took Geralt’s hand and pulled him to the bed. Geralt lay down and Jaskier lay on top of him.  
“You like to be in charge,” Geralt observed.  
“Yes, oddly enough,” Jaskier replied. “And you don’t seem to mind letting me tell you what to do. In this, at least. Is that all right?”  
Geralt smiled and kissed Jaskier, closing his eyes. “I like what you do to me,” he said, rutting gently up against Jaskier’s weight.  
Jaskier pulled himself up a little, wriggling for comfort. “That’s good,” he said. “I like what I do to you too. How long have you got? An hour? Until nightfall?” Jaskier barely dared hope. “Daybreak?”  
Geralt _hmmm_ -ed and smiled. He planted both hands on Jaskier’s arse and thrust up again. “Daybreak,” Geralt said.  
“In that case,” Jaskier said, “I’m going to tease you until you’re helpless and then maybe, if you’re still apologetic enough, _maybe_ I’ll let you ride me.”

Jaskier woke with a warm hollow in the bed where Geralt had been. He groaned. Yes, it had been a lovely reunion. Yes, they had both fallen asleep sated and tired, with Jaskier only emerging half dressed for as long as it took to order food to be brought to the room. Yes, Geralt had even listened to one of Jaskier’s more risqué songs about the ‘Little Witcher and his happy mount’. But no, Jaskier thought with a deep sigh. Geralt had not stayed beyond dawn.

The door creaked open. Jaskier frowned, it wasn’t time to pay up and leave yet.  
“Hey,” Geralt said quietly.  
Jaskier stopped pretending to be asleep. “I thought you’d gone.”  
“No,” Geralt said. “Get up. We’ve got a long journey. Brokilon forest, remember?”  
Jaskier sat up so fast his vision went grey. “What? _We’ve_ got a long journey?”  
“Yes. I want you to come with me. Please don’t make a big deal of it.”  
Geralt set a tray down on Jaskier’s lap.  
“Breakfast. The Butcher of Blaviken brought breakfast in bed.”  
“Shut up and eat.”  
“I have to write a song about this. What rhymes with _croissant_?”  
“Hmm. Maybe taking you with me is a bad idea.”  
“No,” Jaskier said around a mouthful of pastry. “Be right with you. Unless,” he said, a sly smile forming on his face, “Roach can spare you for another ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”  
“Oh?” Geralt frowned.  
“Yes.” Jaskier grinned. “If I woke before you I had my own plans for breakfast in bed.”


End file.
